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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25937947">Iron Fist, Velvet Glove</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mundanecactus/pseuds/mundanecactus'>mundanecactus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Seduction to the Dark Side, Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:56:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,850</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25937947</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mundanecactus/pseuds/mundanecactus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Anakin finds himself assigned to escort the Separatist delegate during his diplomatic visit to Coruscant, he expects it to go poorly, but he doesn't anticipate quite in what way. Ben Darjeti is charismatic, good at negotiating and--unfortunately--a Sith Lord under an assumed name. As tensions mount between the Republic and the Separatists and as the ambassador sets about his work, Anakin is forced to play the game much more quietly and much closer to home than he's used to out on the front. Can he protect Ahsoka from the machinations of the Dark Side? More importantly, can he protect himself?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anakin Skywalker &amp; Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>140</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Enter Ambassador</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"And remember," Padme hisses in his ear, maintaining a beneficent smile and simultaneously managing to sound perfectly deadly, "this isn't the front, Anakin. You can't haul off and start slashing if you don't like what he has to say. Negotiations are tense enough without..." </p><p>She has enough tact not to say it, but Anakin knows what she's thinking. Without a general in the Grand Republic Army assigned as the escort for the Separatist delegate; without Anakin, specifically. Padme's always thought he was a hothead—for no good reason! Sure, he'd prefer to act over blathering on about the best course of action, and maybe his temper gets the best of him every once in a while... He scoffs in his throat, irritated that even in his mind she wins the arguments. "I didn't even want to be here. Chancellor Palpatine—" </p><p>"Well, you're here," she says darkly. "So try not to screw it up." </p><p>"Yeah, yeah." He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, and glances back toward Ahsoka, walking wide-eyed a few meters behind them. It's her first visit to the Senate in an official capacity, so far as he can recall, and he's sure the rows and rows of blue-armored guards and offworld transports must be a sight to see if you're not used to them. He smiles to himself, and drops back beside her as they approach the landing strip. </p><p>"Who even is this guy again?" Ahsoka murmurs in his direction, maintaining an outwardly calm demeanor as their party stops. Padme and her allied senators stand a little ways away, the clones escorting them keeping a watchful eye out. Anakin glances up, but none of the ships crisscrossing the sky seem to be headed their way. "Have we fought him?" </p><p>"No—according to Dooku, he's not that sort," he replies, trying to seem confident for her benefit. He doesn't much like not knowing the man either; at least Ventress would be a known entity. "Not involved in the army, strictly a diplomat. I've seen his picture—he certainly doesn't dress like he's ever seen a battlefield." </p><p>"I don't trust Dooku," Ahsoka mutters. "If he says the guy's a diplomat, he's probably the opposite." </p><p>"Well, that's where we come in," Anakin says easily. "Come on, Snips, even if he is bad news—we can take him. Hmm?" </p><p>"Yeah," she admits at last, cracking a smile. "You're right. I mean, you might be in trouble, but I can take care—" </p><p>"Hey, woah, woah, 'scuse me, <i>Padawan</i>—" </p><p>The rest of his counterattack is cut off by the flashing and beeping of an incoming ship alert, and Anakin squares his shoulders as he spots the brassy hull of the delegate's ship approaching. It looks a hell of a lot like Dooku's, and sets his stomach twisting, ready to pump him full of adrenaline at a moment's notice. He catches himself tapping at the hilt of his lightsaber, and stills his hand. Ugh—Padme's right. Not the front. The ship touches down with a hiss of pressurized air, and Anakin locks his hands behind his back as the gangway descends. The droids that emerge are of an attendant class, noticeably unarmed, and after the pair of them survey the scene, the delegate emerges. He's younger than he looked in the picture— human, late twenties, perhaps, with a well-kept beard and reddish-brown hair swept up and off his forehead. He's dressed just as ostentatiously as expected—black trousers and overtunic, the linings blood red and trimmed with gold, all cut excruciatingly close. Anakin nearly rolls his eyes; clothes tailored within an inch of their lives may look handsome, but they're certainly not meant for fighting. If not fighting, though... Anakin shakes his head, suddenly bothered by some feeling of familiarity. He glances at Ahsoka—she's gazing at the man impassively as he bows to the senators. Nothing in her expression or the Force mirrors his near-recognition of this man. Hmm. Perhaps Anakin's seen him on the Holonet, on the news. </p><p>"And here are your Jedi escorts," Padme says, and strolls leisurely with the man over to them. "Knight Anakin Skywalker and Padawan Ahsoka Tano. They'll be part of your guard while you're here, so to speak." </p><p>"Are they protecting me or keeping an eye on me?" the man jokes in a neat Coruscanti accent, then turns to them. "Nice to meet you, General Skywalker; I'm... quite familiar with your work." He chuckles again. "And Padawan Tano—pleasure to make your acquaintance." </p><p>"Pleasure's mine," Ahsoka replies politely as the delegate bows. Anakin can feel curiosity radiating off her; if he had to guess, she didn't expect Separatists of being capable of civility. </p><p>"My name is Ambassador Ben Darjeti," the delegate continues. "I look forward to negotiations, Senator Amidala, and to General Skywalker's aid in navigating this rather... complicated planet you call home." </p><p>"Are you not...?" Anakin begins, before he worries it might breach some rule of social discourse he's unaware of. Hell, he shouldn't be interested in this man at all—he's an enemy! </p><p>"Coruscanti?" Ambassador Darjeti seems to read his mind. "I lived here, briefly, as a child, but that upbringing was... a bit sheltered." He smiles, his teeth white and even. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know how to navigate the magrail." </p><p>His good humor seems to be putting the rest of the party at ease, but Anakin maintains his wariness internally as Darjeti turns away and gets to the business of scheduling with Padme. Seemingly friendly or not, he's a Separatist, and works for Dooku. Anakin flexes the fingers of his prosthetic hand, and grits his teeth. Perhaps he'd be justified in a little verification of the ambassador's intentions, displease the Council as it may. </p><p>He feels Ahsoka's presence in the Force flare a bit in surprise as she senses him reaching out, and she raises an eyebrow at him. He ignores her, and probes a bit closer to their new charge. Padme's connection, forceful and righteous—the alertness of the Senate guards—he frowns, and scans over the area again. Where...? That... can't be right. </p><p>The ambassador and Padme now to each other once more, and Darjeti addresses himself to Anakin. "I'll go find my quarters in the Senate building, if that's acceptable to you, General. Must I have an escort for that?" </p><p>It takes Anakin a moment to come back from his thoughts, but he shakes himself and nods. "Yes—er, no—er, you can move about the premises without issue, I'm sure. Ring my com if you want to... visit other parts of the city, I suppose." </p><p>"Most accommodating," Darjeti says appreciatively, and smiles at Anakin again. It'd be a very trustworthy smile if Anakin wasn't deeply suspicious right now. But the ambassador and his attendant droids follow the Senate guards back into the domed building, and Anakin is left on the platform, frowning tremendously. The man is still familiar, and his presence in the Force... Anakin would guess he was a droid himself if he hadn't watched him breathing. </p><p>"What's it mean, Snips," he says absently, "when you can hardly see someone in the Force?" </p><p>Ahsoka answers like it's a test. "There could be someone else nearby very strong in it, distorting the fields. Or the person could be sort of... uninterested in others? Right? Or..." she frowns, wracking her brains. "Oh—tampering, if you want to hide yourself. But only Jedi can do that."</p><p>"Only Jedi," Anakin repeats, and narrows his eyes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Shore Leave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 2</p><p>There’s a youngling on the magrail playing with a frequency jammer, and Anakin is just about ready to storm over there and smash the thing to bits. Or he would, if he thought his hand would function well enough to let him grab it. His thumb twitches as he sees the kid mess with one of the knobs, and he growls under his breath, leaning back in his seat next to Ahsoka. When he was a Padawan, he and Qui-Gon would take a speeder to attend their duties. Certainly more convenient, but he kind of thought it might be good for Ahsoka to be out in the city. There’s training to become a good Jedi, and then there’s… street smarts, he supposes he’d call them. Anakin was pretty well forced to pick up street smarts in his time on Tatooine, and while he wouldn’t wish that on anyone, he also doesn’t want to lose his edge. Wind up rarefied like the Council. So he buys Ahsoka and himself magrail passes, and when they’re on Coruscant he puts it in her hands to navigate.</p><p>Which she’s doing now with great competency, to his relief. He’s not sure he would be able to focus with the nerve relays that transition between flesh and steel itching like insects under his skin. “Two more stops, right, Snips?”</p><p>“One,” she corrects. “There’s construction in the station we usually get off at. The elevators aren’t running to the surface.”</p><p>“Excellent recon,” he jokes, and grits his teeth, forcibly holding his wrist back from flexing. </p><p>Ahsoka tracks his expression, or maybe just senses his discomfort, and bites her lip. “Do you want me to go say something to that kid?”</p><p>Anakin’s honestly a bit touched that she had noticed. “Nah. One more stop. There is no emotion, there is peace, right?” Ooh, he doesn’t believe that right now. He’s got a lot of emotions and none of them are peaceful.</p><p>But they disembark from the magrail car without issue once it comes to a stop, and Anakin regains control of his hand as they take an elevator to the surface. They’re headed back to the temple for the time being, leaving Ambassador Darjeti to settle in. Anakin still hasn’t figured out where he’s seen the man’s face before, even by quizzing Ahsoka earlier in the ride. They pass by a holo-billboard glowing bluish outside the transparent shaft of their elevator—it’s playing news from the independent system of Mandalore. Anakin frowns. “Is he from an independent system? Could we have met him on a peacekeeping mission?”</p><p>Ahsoka rolls her eyes. “I already told you, I’ve never met him! For sure! Why don’t you search him on the Holonet and see instead of bugging me?”</p><p>“The Holonet can’t tell me where I’ve met him,” Anakin says stubbornly, but he pulls out his datapad anyway and looks Ben Darjeti up. He finds a profile detailing the man’s history in advance of his visit from some Coruscanti news outlet, and scans it over. Darjeti lives on Raxus, evidently, and rose to prominence about a year after the battle of Geonosis; apparently he’s earned the nickname “the Negotiator” in that short time in Dooku’s inner circle. Anakin snorts; well, he supposes if the Separatists are going to send anyone, it makes sense to send a fresh face—someone that hasn’t been the cause of too many Republic losses. Someone Anakin hasn’t been personally sent to capture just yet.</p><p>He realizes he’s been walking along on autopilot for the last few minutes when Ahsoka slows her pace, and a glance up reveals the reason. Apparently some sort of algae tea from Mon Cala has been all the rage among the Padawans these last few weeks; he’s heard Ahsoka videochatting with Barriss in her quarters on the <i>Resolute</i>, sounding wistful as Barriss tells her the latest gossip. The tea-shop’s sign blinks neon pink, and Ahsoka’s staring in the window as she follows him half-heartedly. He snickers to himself and tweaks one of her lekku. “You want to go get one?”</p><p>She drags her eyes away and narrows them at him. “What’s the catch? Extra workout? Simulator training?”</p><p>He laughs. “No catch! We’ve been at the front so long—aren’t your friends all into these right now?”</p><p>She searches his face for a moment more, then nods suspiciously. “Alright. So long as I don’t have to spar to get it.”</p><p>She maintains that wary attitude up until the moment the pink plastic cup is in her hand, but once she’s got it, she’s grinning for all she’s worth. He smiles too, following behind out of frame as she takes all her pictures and filters them properly to document the experience. It’s hard to come back from the front—to remember they’re on Coruscant, not in a warzone, and to resume peacetime lives for however short their leaves are. Ahsoka’s sixteen years old, and in most circumstances getting trendy drinks with her friends would be the main focus of her life. She’s an excellent commander, though, and she’ll come out of this war a hero—many of the Padawans, many of the Jedi will. Anakin just hopes he’s giving her the time to decompress and have fun that Qui-Gon was so adamant about giving him.</p><p>“Come on, Sky-guy, selfie,” she teases, throwing an arm around his neck and grinning into her holopad. He heaves an exaggerated sigh, and gives her the longsuffering-master look, finally holding up his own purple tea at her urging. She snaps the picture and skips onward, sipping her drink as they head back to the temple. Perhaps this assignment isn’t so bad after all—perhaps it’s a break they both need. </p><p>***</p><p>It’s just about dinnertime and Anakin’s deeply absorbed in trying to repair an old mouse droid when he gets a ping on his com. Ambassador Darjeti, it looks like, is starting to test the waters. “General Skywalker - turns out what passes for the Republic Senators’ meal hall is fairly abysmal. Any chance you or your Padawan would be willing to take me out to dinner?”</p><p>Anakin snorts a bit—seems the man has a good sense of humor about being under constant surveillance—then shakes himself. No matter how friendly he is, Anakin has to keep his guard up. “Of course,” he texts back. “Ahsoka and I will be by shortly.”</p><p>“Many thanks,” comes the reply as he heads up the hall to the Padawans’ quarters. “Any recommendations on where, exactly, we should go?”</p><p>Hmm—a stickier issue. When Anakin eats outside the Temple, he tends toward diners on the lower levels, where every so often a cook from Tatooine can be found. Maybe Ahsoka will have a better idea; the Togruta are near-exclusively carnivorous, but a rare steak is almost certainly better than spicy womp-rat stew cooked by a walking ashtray. Or better for the ambassador, anyhow. An eruption of giggling meets him outside her door.</p><p>“Kriff, Ahsoka, but your luck! First you meet that cute boy—oh, what was—”</p><p>“Lux Bonteri? Come onnnnn, Barriss, I don’t—”</p><p>“Yes, you do—you knew exactly who I was talking about!” There’s tittering, like there’s a few Padawans gathered in there. “And now this Ben Darjeti—”</p><p>“Ugghhhhhhh…” Ahsoka sounds exasperated. “He’s like thirty! He could be my dad!”</p><p>“Dad...dy?” comes another voice, and there are shrieks of protest from several parties. “Come on, you have to think he’s hot though. In an older-man, evil-Separatist kind of way.”</p><p>“You’re going to ruin this mission for me, Tarsi,” Ahsoka grouses. “Now that’s all I’m going to be able to think about. Anakin’s going to have a stroke.”</p><p>“Speaking of—” that voice pipes up again, and Anakin knocks quickly, half-amused and half-entirely unwilling to hear where <i>that</i> conversation is going. There’s scrambling from inside the room, and at last Ahsoka opens the door to reveal five or six other padawans scattered about her bed and floor.</p><p>“Oh, hey, Master,” she says, glaring back over her shoulder. “What’s up?”</p><p>“Duty calls,” he says lightly, waving his holopad. “The Ambassador wants us to escort him to dinner. Which I think means nice dinner for us.”</p><p>There’s a chorus of half-stifled ooh’s that Ahsoka quells with another ferocious glare, and she snatches her cloak and sabers off her desk. “Right away, Master. These guys were <i>just leaving</i>.”</p><p>***</p><p>“Fascinating!” Ambassador Darjeti says, slicing a bite off his hunk of bantha and spearing it with his fork. Anakin should probably not have let Ahsoka pick the restaurant, and yet here they are. “I must say, it’s very interesting to hear the other side of the story—and from commanders who have seen the effects of the war up-close, no less. I worry that I may find the senators here a bit… removed from the situation.”</p><p>“Well,” Ahsoka says, suspicion and flattery warring on her face. “We’ve certainly been there. Seen… enough.”</p><p>“Indeed.” Darjeti looks a bit sad for a second. “I hope we can manage to bring it all to an end soon. Too much destruction.”</p><p>“Seen much of it yourself, Ambassador?” Anakin says dryly, his eyes flicking over the man’s formal dinner attire once more. Another cut suit of black and red that makes him look pale. The Republic senators may be removed on Coruscant, but he can’t imagine Darjeti is any more familiar with the actual costs of the war.</p><p>“Oh, please—call me Ben.” The ambassador smiles, and chews thoughtfully for a moment. “And… I’m sure not as much as you have, but still. The Confederation hasn’t got the ring of… well, sacrificial systems that the Republic does. Coruscant hardly sees the war, but Raxus—our capital world—well, it’s already felt plenty of tragedy.”</p><p>“It’s a lovely place,” Ahsoka says carefully. “Er—I was there, with Senator Amidala, when Mina Bonteri—”</p><p>“Oh, that fiasco. A tragedy, and all for nothing.” Darjeti looks darkly displeased for a moment. “Yes. This time, I hope that negotiations will be… smoother.” His presence in the Force is still just barely there, nearly a void, Anakin notes as he sips a glass of water. Either the ambassador’s not feeling what he seems to be, or his presence is being hidden somehow. A trick of Ventress’s? Dooku’s? “But enough about sad subjects. Much more pleasant to think about the future, hmm? How long until your trials, Padawan Tano?”</p><p>Anakin pricks up his ears a bit. “Oh, a few years at least,” Ahsoka says quickly. “Still lots to learn.”</p><p>“Do you know much about the Jedi, Ambassador?” Anakin asks, trying to keep his voice casual.</p><p>“A bit—just what most people know nowadays. With your prominence in the war effort and all, I think we’ve all gotten to know your traditions over the last few years.” Still no reaction in the Force—no discomfort, no uncertainty. “I would think the demand for generals might accelerate things, though, Ms. Tano? Correct me if I’m wrong.”</p><p>“The Jedi don’t answer to the Senate, or to the Military Creation Act,” Anakin says, before Ahsoka can answer. “Our traditions go just as they always have.” A pity, in some ways—Anakin’s complained before about the stifling nature of the code—but in front of this smooth-talking Separatist he feels defensive. “Ahsoka will take the trials when she’s ready, and hopefully after all of this is over.”</p><p>“Quite,” the ambassador replies. “My mistake—it’s difficult to see how these things function from the outside. From my point of view, it seems like the Jedi have become quite comfortable in their new role—but of course, you’re peacekeepers.” He smiles. “Let us hope there’s a peace to keep soon.” Anakin bristles; it’s an argument he’s heard before, but it stings every time. Especially because it’s true. He sips his drink to cool the redness he’s sure is rising to his ears, and glares at his plate.</p><p>And for a fraction of a second, he feels a flicker of something from the man across the table. It’s impossible to open the window to peek out at something without letting something look your way, and to Anakin that’s nearly what it feels like. He catches a snatch of satisfaction, the tiniest hint of curiosity, a brush with… anticipation? But windows go two ways, and Anakin gets the feeling that for just a moment, Ben Darjeti was appraising him too.</p><p>A fact which he realizes, as he retreats and clamps down on his own feelings, stuffs an overlarge bite of bantha steak in his mouth, and lets Ahsoka take over conversation for a moment, has an awful lot of implications.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Negotiations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s late—far later than Anakin should be asking for favors from anyone else. But he has a suspicion, and his mind is buzzing with it far too loudly to be left alone. Dinner concluded without issue, thanks mainly to Ahsoka. She has far more patience than Anakin—a trait that will make her a better Jedi than him one day. If it were up to him, he’d have left and hurried back here hours ago. By the time they saw the ambassador back to the Senate building, Anakin was hardly keeping it together. “Well, same time tomorrow?” Darjeti had said with that very white smile of his. Anakin had nodded mutely, vibrating in place with the effort of restraining his presence in the Force and his desire to act. Not the front. Social obligations apply, for the time being.</p><p>Now, he half-jogs into the library in search of Jocasta Nu. Ahsoka peeled off earlier and he let her—nothing for her to worry about if he’s wrong. But he doesn’t think he’s wrong. There are few lights on in the library, just the blue glow from data drives and holocrons. He spots a figure—Jocasta’s padawan. Good enough. What’s the padawan’s name? They’re a Nautolan, but there are a few Nautolan younglings around. It’s fine, he’ll remember, most likely. He ducks down one of the aisles. “Hey—um…”</p><p>“Onaron.”</p><p>“Right. Yes. ‘Course. Hey, Onaron, the Jedi know about every Force-sensitive youngling in the galaxy, right?”</p><p>Onaron’s tendrils raise up along with their shoulders, like they’re not sure if this is a test. “Yes.”</p><p>“Excellent. Fantastic.” Anakin rubs his hands together. “Can you look someone up for me, find out if he’s on the list?”</p><p>Onaron nods slowly. “Is there… something wrong, Master Skywalker? I mean… you seem… distressed.” They fold their hands almost nervously.</p><p>Anakin bounces on the balls of his feet. “Never better, Onaron. Can I see those records?”</p><p>“Of course.” Onaron still seems perplexed by Anakin’s behavior—maybe he is just a touch amped up—but they make their way over to a console, and input some override codes. “This is really classified stuff,” they warn, as the computer chews the data over. “So make sure you don’t let whatever it is you need fall into outside hands, okay?”</p><p>“All I need is one name,” Anakin assures them. “Just see if Ben Darjeti has ever been on one of those records.”</p><p>Onaron types the name in, and Anakin tries not to hover over their shoulder too aggressively as they look. “That spelled right? I… nope. Don’t see him.”</p><p>Anakin purses his lips—that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but it does make his job more difficult. “You sure?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Onaron looks up dryly; Anakin supposes this is their area of expertise. “I suppose—do you have a planet of origin? We could try searching a bit more broadly—”</p><p>“Er—” Anakin frowns. “Well—he lives on Raxus now…”</p><p>“No,” Onaron corrects. “Homeworld. Where he was born.”</p><p>“I don’t know that.”</p><p>“Well…” Onaron drums their fingers on the keys. “Are you sure this person is Force-sensitive?”</p><p>“Like, ninety-seven percent,” Anakin says confidently. He knows what he felt, and what he felt was something only a Force-sensitive would have any idea how to do.</p><p>“Species, then? We can go broader.”</p><p>“Human male. Uh—between twenty-five, thirty standard years old? What else can I give you?”</p><p>“Did this person ever train as a Jedi?”</p><p>Anakin pauses for a second. Briefly, as a child, but that upbringing was... a bit sheltered. Of course, he supposes he forced the question, asking if the ambassador was Coruscanti, but if he was a former Jedi and not broadcasting that fact, then why the hell would he tell the truth? “Yes… I think. Well, we can try it, anyhow.” He thought he was being clever, figuring this out, but now Anakin is starting to doubt himself. A former Jedi—a former Jedi who’s hinting at that fact, who’s working for the Separatists, who’s working for Dooku—Dooku, a former Jedi himself—the former master of—</p><p>“Wait,” Anakin says, and steps back. “Wait, I know who he is.”</p><p>Onaron looks at him curiously. “Oh?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Anakin says urgently, unsure of whether to run for the Council or hop in a speeder and track the man down. “Yeah, yeah. Have you got records for—oh, I don’t know—Jedi killed in the… field, or whatever? Can we look at causes of death?”</p><p>Onaron looks really concerned now. “Master Skywalker, what’s going on?”<br/>“I think,” Anakin says grimly, “that perhaps someone didn’t die when we thought they did. Look up Naboo, ten years ago.”</p><p>“You’re… talking about that Sith Lord?” Onaron’s fingers move over the keys. “Right? But he was Dathomirian—”</p><p>“Not him. The person he killed. Qui-Gon Jinn’s apprentice—Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi.”</p><p>Onaron frowns at him, then squints at the screen. “Um… the writeup on the event—that Master Jinn wrote, Master Skywalker—he said they both went into a reactor shaft.”</p><p>“No body ever recovered…” Anakin murmurs, and leans in. There are case file photos—he pulls up Padawan Kenobi’s, and considers it. Ten years—ten years could add a beard; a change in hairstyle, the removal of the padawan braid… yes, Padawan Kenobi could be Ben Darjeti. He’s not sure if the eye color matches—he’s sure one of those lovestruck padawans would be more likely to notice that sort of thing—but it fits. It very much seems to fit.</p><p>“Master Skywalker, who even is this person we’re looking up?” Onaron complains, and Anakin notices he’s accidentally stolen their place at the screen. He retreats sheepishly. “Who do you think is who?”</p><p>If Ben Darjeti is Obi-Wan Kenobi, that raises questions—questions that he probably can’t answer without asking the ambassador them himself. And questions that may have dangerous answers. Anakin slows himself down, coming off the high of mystery-solving. Not tonight. He’ll rest, prepare, confront the man tomorrow. “He’s… just someone I met. No big deal. I just… was curious. Thank you, padawan.”</p><p>Onaron looks unsatisfied, but they bow reluctantly. “Of course, Master Skywalker.” Anakin forces himself to walk slowly out of the library, a phantom itch starting up where his arm should be. It always does that, when he thinks about Geonosis. If he hadn’t gone after Dooku… if he had been with Qui-Gon… but he had to try, hadn’t he? He’d had to.</p><p>He hasn’t thought about Obi-Wan Kenobi in years. He wonders if Qui-Gon did.</p><p>***</p><p>He doesn’t want to scare him off, Anakin decides. His impulse last night was to go in blasters-blazing, but as he runs through katas with Ahsoka in the temple courtyard, in the one bit of nature left on this planet, he thinks perhaps the military approach is the wrong one. Negotiations are delicate, Padme told him. Perhaps Darjeti—Kenobi—whoever is here for the reasons he says he is, and if Anakin offends him too quickly then that might ruin the peace process for the second time. He bends down and touches his toes, the grass soft on his feet, and watches Ahsoka do the same. Should he tell her about his suspicions?</p><p>“So, was that for real?” Ahsoka asks before he even opens his mouth. “Do we get to go out to dinner again tonight?”</p><p>Anakin tilts his head, stretching his neck a bit. “If he asks us to, I suppose. We’re kind of at his beck and call.”</p><p>“Hmph.” Ahsoka’s frowning, the white spots on her forehead wrinkled. “Don’t much like that.”</p><p>“No,” he agrees. “It’s not fighting. Being a commander.”</p><p>“It’s not being a Jedi either,” she comments, and laces her fingers together over her head. “He’s right—those aren’t the same, as much as we act like they are nowadays.”</p><p>Great—now Anakin has to deal with that on both sides. “Serving with the army is serving the Republic,” he says gently. “Don’t you want to do that?”</p><p>“Yeah,” she says uncertainly. “I just… it’s something to keep in mind, you know? If the Jedi are doing something other than what they’re supposed to, then does our code work for the things we are doing?”</p><p>He considers that for a moment, moving through a few steps of the kata in tandem with her. “You know how I feel about the code.”</p><p>“More of a guideline,” she says in a deep voice, and laughs. “Yeah. I dunno. I’m sure Master Yoda’s keeping an eye on this sort of thing. Making sure it is the right thing that we’re doing.”</p><p>“Mmm.” Well, Anakin’s never been one for listening to the Council too much either, so that doesn’t exactly set his mind at ease, but these are Ahsoka’s doubts, at least. He thinks the war is the right thing—peace at the end, for sure, but on terms that preserve the Republic as well as possible. He’d be helping even if he wasn’t a Jedi. So as long as Ahsoka’s okay with following the Council’s judgement, he’ll let her.</p><p>He decides to keep the Kenobi thing to himself. Ahsoka’s smart, but if she’s starting to have doubts, then this whole issue could just make things more confusing for her—might ruin her time on Coruscant, and keep her from enjoying time with her fellow padawans. If the ambassador started with that little jab last night, then he might be working his way up to more aggressive criticism of the Republic and the Jedi Order. And if he is who Anakin thinks he is, then he might be speaking from experience.</p><p>***</p><p>“Negotiations have started, but again, I think your Senators need to negotiate for some better catering.” A text, a bit later than last time. “May I have the pleasure of being allowed off the premises?”</p><p>Anakin considers it for a moment, then replies. “Padawan Tano is busy this evening with training, I’m afraid, but I’m available to escort you. Same place?”</p><p>The reply is a minute or two in coming. “Actually, you know—I’ve remembered this spot I went to once, when I was younger. Of course, if you want more Bantha—”</p><p>Anakin puts on a show of good humor. “Let’s… diversify.”</p><p>He’s feeling rather anxious, actually, about the whole thing—it’ll be a delicate operation to draw the ambassador out, especially with how carefully he seems to be guarding his emotions. Of course he could just leap in, lightsaber drawn, but until he knows why the man is hiding his identity—or if he is—then there’s no reason for him to do so. There’s no law against changing your name. There’s no law against leaving the Jedi Order. There are laws against being a Separatist, but, Anakin thinks, easing the speeder out of the hanger and pulling with a little more force than necessary into the skylane, they’re well past that.</p><p>The ambassador is waiting on one of the Senate landing strips when he arrives, dressed in yet another of those red and black suits—this one cut with a high collar and open neck. Anakin feels a bit underdressed in comparison; his Jedi robes aren’t exactly fashionable, and they don’t exactly do him any favors. Not that that matters—he bites the inside of his cheek as that padawan in Ahsoka’s room’s words come back to him. Hot, in an older-man, evil-Separatist kind of way. Hmph. He supposes so—again, not that it matters. </p><p>Darjeti—for now, Darjeti—smiles, and gets into the speeder beside Anakin, glancing at his datapad. His presence in the Force is still hidden, still suppressed. “Alright,” he says, a chuckle hiding behind the words. “I apologize in advance if I’m misremembering this place as nicer than it was. I’m sure my standards have changed over time. Fifth level down, if this is the right address.”</p><p>Anakin takes the speeder down as instructed, the lights of Coruscant bright around them as they descend. “So… you went here before, as a youngling?”</p><p>“Youngling—not quite. A bit older than that.” He cocks his head. “I was on and off Coruscant for a while there, before I finally moved to the Outer Rim for good.”</p><p>“I see.” The rest of the ride progresses without chit-chat—Anakin’s not sure of how to dig deeper from there. Hopefully, wherever they’re headed, he can get the man talking, and lead him into outing himself on his own.</p><p>“Ah—yes, just there. A bit more of a dive than I recalled.” Anakin’s a bit surprised—the ambassador’s leading them towards a bar, rather than a restaurant—but on second thought, it works nicely. He locks the speeder, and follows. Not the worst bar he’s ever been to, but a sight worse than one he would expect a Jedi to have gone to. Or a Jedi besides him.</p><p>“Do Jedi drink?” Darjeti queries as they approach the bar. “Seems a bit off-message, hmm? Earthly pleasures and all.”</p><p>“We’re not ascetics,” Anakin returns distractedly, scanning the room quickly for any threats. He’s juggling a lot at once—protecting the ambassador, trying to wring information out of him, protecting his own information. It’s neon-lit and slightly humid in here, booths and tables bustling with other patrons beginning their evenings. There are some rough looking Weequayans in one corner, and a Twi’lek man hovering by the door trying to catch the eye of passerby, but nothing openly concerning. He glances back at the ambassador; he’s shorter than Anakin, might not be able to hold his liquor as well. “Two shots of Corellian,” he tells the barkeep, and slides one over to his charge. “To… negotiations.”</p><p>He’s not sure if he imagines the touch of a smirk on the Ambassador’s face as he raises his shot glass in return. “May both parties find what they are looking for.”</p><p>***</p><p>It’s… it’s several hours later, though Anakin is loath to check his com, and the two of them are still drinking. Darjeti has unwound ever-so-slightly, but Anakin can't get a good read on just how drunk he is. Probably because he, Anakin, is all-too-aware of how drunk he is. Apparently those nights out with the 501st didn't do enough for his tolerance; Twi'lek liqueur is headier stuff than he remembered, and they've put most of a nice bottle of it away by now.</p><p>"I know it must not seem it to you," the ambassador says with a chuckle, "but Count Dooku is a noble man—truly! He wants what's best for these systems."</p><p>"Mm," Anakin hums skeptically, sipping more of his drink. To keep up appearances, of course. "And yet all those war crimes…"</p><p>"War is messy," Darjeti replies smoothly. "I'm sure your troops would fall under similar accusations if they were fighting living beings and not droids."</p><p>"My men," Anakin says pointedly, and drums his prosthetic fingers on the table, "are honorable. They follow orders—they don't make them."</p><p>He makes a noncommittal noise, and refills his drink. "Still. I don't think either side is worse than the other—just a difference of opinions. You look up to Chancellor Palpatine, I appreciate Dooku's leadership. We're not so different, you and I."</p><p>"Who said that about the Chancellor?" Anakin supposes he does think of the man as a mentor, but it’s not exactly public knowledge. He doesn't like that Darjeti knows more about him than he does about Darjeti.</p><p>"Oh, Senator Amidala, I believe."</p><p>"Oh." He frowns at the man for a moment longer, watches him take a slow sip of his drink. The red and black makes him look pale in daylight, but they're all in shadow and neon in this bar. He cuts a fine, if slightly unfocused, profile. Long eyelashes, Anakin notices, and promptly strives to ignore that. He circles back around to the thing that's irritating his sluggish mind. "Still. I don't like Dooku. He and I have… unfinished business." He drums his fingers a bit more.</p><p>"Ah—I did hear—" the ambassador looks at his hand curiously. "Hearsay, about you. You're a bit of a hero to the Republic, General Skywalker. The Hero With No Fear, is it not?"</p><p>Anakin half-recognizes that as flattery, but he doesn't quite manage to mind. It takes his mind off Dooku. He shrugs, ignoring the tips of his ears getting hot, and takes a very deliberate drink. "Just doing my duty."</p><p>"Mm. Honorable, again." A flash of white smile, and Darjeti leans in, his chin in his hand. Anakin catches a breath of some very-expensive smelling cologne, and chokes on his own tongue just a bit. Focus, idiot. You don’t trust him—you can’t trust him. "A lucky thing for you, I suppose, that you had the opportunity to live up to your potential."</p><p>Anakin forces himself to make eye contact with the ambassador. Whatever… bashful glance-away his instincts are urging on him is wholly unacceptable. "How so?"</p><p>Darjeti makes a vague, elegant gesture. "Well, the life of a Jedi before the war—I'm sure it looked very different, right? Less action, more… passivity."</p><p>"I suppose." Anakin leans back for his own sanity’s sake, and runs a finger around the rim of his glass. Darjeti's very… perceptive. "I do enjoy having the ability to act. I think it gets us places faster than talking. Though I suppose you must… disagree."</p><p>He shrugs lightly. "Depends on the situation. Sometimes it's time to talk, sometimes it's time to fight. Sometimes it's time to follow traditions, sometimes it's time to… move beyond them."</p><p>Anakin swallows hard—the sound of someone else saying things that he only thinks to himself is even more intoxicating than the liqueur. Come on, focus. Sure, attractive, whatever. Separatist, hiding things, entirely untrustworthy, too slick for his own good. Come on, Skywalker, steer the conversation anywhere but here. "My master would have said much the same," Anakin says, patting his drunken mind on the back for coming up with that one and peeking at Darjeti's reaction. His eyebrows raise in polite interest; his Force signature tells a different story. It flares for just a moment—pain, pain so strong that Anakin nearly winces—and then disappears again. Anakin narrows his eyes.</p><p>"Your master?"</p><p>"Mm. Qui-Gon Jinn. He… died at Geonosis. But he was always sort of a maverick like that. Liked to do things his own way." He tilts his chin a bit, fixing Darjeti's brown eyes with his own. Huh—Kenobi had had blue eyes in the picture. "He taught that to all his students."</p><p>For a long moment there is silence, the humid air in the bar still and crackling with tension between Anakin and the ambassador. He's still feeling a little fuzzy, but he holds the glare. Anakin's got him, and he knows it.</p><p>"Well," Kenobi says, and glances at his comm. "That's… 32 hours. I must say, quicker than I expected. Did your padawan help you? She seems an extremely bright young woman."</p><p>Anakin frowns at the insult. "Ahsoka will be… staying out of this, for the time being."</p><p>Kenobi looks surprised. "Whatever for?"</p><p>"Because I don't know what you're really doing here. What you're hiding."</p><p>He laughs. "Hiding? I'm not hiding anything."</p><p>"Your name, your past…"</p><p>"I told you the truth." He looks miffed. "Everything I've said was true."</p><p>"And yet you're still hiding yourself in the Force." Anakin summons up a bit of his connection to the Force, prods at Kenobi's mind. "What's that, if not hiding?"</p><p>"Habit," Kenobi says lightly, his defenses brushing Anakin's jabs away with ease. "A good habit to get into, in fact, Anakin, if you're planning to keep thinking everything you've been thinking while we've been sitting here." He raises an eyebrow. "The Council doesn't much like that… maverick spirit."</p><p>Anakin's stomach rolls over, the worry suddenly assailing him that perhaps his glimpse into Kenobi's mind last night had been something Kenobi had allowed him to see. His mind drunkenly tries to scan over the thoughts he's had for the last few hours, and comes up very concerned indeed. He half-starts to his feet. "Look, you tell me what you're doing here right now, or—"</p><p>"Or what? You'll start a fight?" Kenobi glances around, his charismatic demeanor sliding into a lazy sort of smugness. "This is Coruscant, my friend. Not the front or some hero's battle with Asajj Ventress." He looks thoughtful. "Sometimes it's time to fight, sometimes it's time to talk.”</p><p>Anakin growls in his throat. "Ventress. You two a matched set, then? Dooku's dogs?"</p><p>Kenobi looks hurt. "You do her a disservice—she's really quite a lovely person."</p><p>"She's a Sith!"</p><p>"And you believe what the Council has told you? That Sith are irredeemably evil?"</p><p>Anakin glares at him, his disgust for Ventress and her ilk fighting his rebellious streak. He doesn't just go around believing what the Council tells him, but Dooku cut off his hand, all but killed his master himself—Ventress has come so close to hurting Ahsoka—Maul nearly killed Padme those ten years ago…</p><p>The thought of Maul and that steady, brown-eyed gaze finally click together like the pieces of a puzzle, and Anakin goes for his lightsaber involuntarily. "Three of four I've met so far have been. Maybe I’ll be nice and reserve judgement on you if you come quietly, Lord—"</p><p>"Oh, we're absolutely not there yet," the man tuts. He doesn't seem bothered by Anakin's aggressive posture; he leans away from him gently and takes a sip of his drink. "Ben Darjeti will do."</p><p>Anakin grits his teeth. "Obi-Wan Kenobi."</p><p>He tilts his head noncommittally. "If you must." He glances down at Anakin's lightsaber. "Again, my friend, we're in public. Don't do anything too rash."</p><p>"Why shouldn't I? I could arrest you right now—"</p><p>"For what?" Kenobi looks almost pleased, like he hoped Anakin might reach for that argument. "The rules of the Jedi aren't the rules of the Republic."</p><p>Well, damn it. Anakin fumes, but he takes his hand off his lightsaber. Kenobi is right—there's nothing he can do here, not now, before Kenobi actually does something unlawful. And as galling as it is, as much as he thinks it ought to be, it’s technically not illegal to be a Sith. He sits, every muscle in his body tense at having to allow this. He’s sitting next to a Sith Lord. He’s being forced to have drinks with a Sith Lord!</p><p>And maybe he can’t do anything about it as a general, but he’s telling the Council the instant he gets out of here.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Terms and Conditions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Master Windu raises his eyebrow in that way that means he’s about to try and poke holes in all of Anakin’s theories, and Anakin nearly regrets coming here. “So let me get this straight, Skywalker—your theory is that Padawan Kenobi faked his death, left the Order, fell to the Dark Side, and came back here as a Sith… to do what, exactly?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Anakin admits in a grumble. “But does it matter? The Sith are evil—and whatever his intentions for the war are, they can’t be good.”</p><p>“Have you proof that this man is who you think he is?” Plo Koon is away, but he strokes the front of his breathing apparatus in holoprojection form. “Qui-Gon seemed quite certain that his apprentice had… returned to the living Force.”</p><p>“Or maybe he just couldn’t sense him,” Anakin argues. “He seems to be good at that—hiding his feelings. And he looks just the same—he’s got a beard now, but I met him before. I thought he looked familiar.”</p><p>“Have proof, do you, that a Sith he is?” Master Yoda pipes up, looking deep in thought. “Troubling news, this is.</p><p>“He all but told me,” Anakin says bluntly. “I think Dooku’s his master.”</p><p>“What about the Rule of Two?” Master Windu asks Yoda, frowning even harder now. “We know of Dooku, and we’ve heard of… Darth Sidious.” The name seems to darken the air in the Council Chamber with mystery; the unknown Sith Lord has sat heavy on the whole order’s minds since his existence came to light. Anakin fidgets a bit—Master Windu’s hit on something he hadn’t even thought about. “Asajj Ventress, we might dismiss as an assassin, but if Skywalker thinks this man is a proper Sith apprentice—”</p><p>“Messy, the Sith Order is, and will always be,” Yoda pronounces darkly. “Betrayal, and darkness, and disunity. Perhaps the apprentice seeks to become the master.”</p><p>“Dooku taking control for himself, with… with this newcomer.” Master Windu laces his fingers together. “It fits with the way the Sith operate, that’s for sure. But does it help or harm us?”</p><p>“Perhaps a fact-finding mission might be in order,” Shaak-Ti’s words are blurred all the way from Kamino, but the others turn to face her. “This young man… Obi-Wan Kenobi, if he is… may be more reckless than his master. Perhaps he might give up information that Dooku or Sidious would not.”</p><p>“Not to mention he’s here, and we have a direct line to him.” Master Windu nods approvingly.</p><p>“Great,” Anakin says, and he means it—for once, the Council has taken his advice. “So I’ll go out, bring him back here, we do a little interrogation, take the fight to Dooku—”</p><p>Plo Koon interrupts him. “Patience, young Skywalker—I think that may not be the wisest course of action. Kenobi is still the delegate from the Separatists, is he not? Tied up in very delicate negotiations?”</p><p>There’s a hum of agreement from around the room, and Anakin feels himself deflate. “Indeed—we need these talks to go well,” Shaak Ti says. “Risking a diplomatic incident with a prominent Separatist figure could bring down retribution that the Republic may not be equipped to handle right now.”</p><p>“Cautious, we must be, but know, we must,” Yoda says, eyeing Anakin. Unbidden, Anakin remembers what Kenobi said last night. <i>Hiding your thoughts—a good habit to get into.</i> He shakes the thought out of his mind and meets his gaze. “Comfortable, would you be, with continuing the mission the Chancellor has given you? And investigating the Sith?”</p><p>“All respect, Master Yoda,” Master Windu cuts in, before Anakin has a chance to speak. “But Skywalker has no… training, in this sort of espionage. You of all people know how strong the Dark Side of the Force can be.”</p><p>“I’ll do it,” Anakin says, disbelieving and immediately angry. Kriff, Mace Windu has never liked him or trusted him, but he didn’t think the man thought he was in danger of falling to the Dark Side! What reason has he given him to doubt him? “I’ll do it, yeah,” he repeats, glaring around the room. “I can spy just as well as I can fight. I’ll figure out why he’s here. No diplomatic incidents.” The Council members glance around at one another, engaged in what Anakin assumes is silent conferral, but he keeps his eyes on Master Windu. He’ll make Windu trust him, one way or another. He’ll prove himself to the Council, stop the Sith’s machinations. He’s not weak, whatever Windu thinks. The Dark Side is nothing compared to what he’s willing to throw at Kenobi to solve this thing and take Dooku down.</p><p>***</p><p>"Damn, Skyguy—I didn't think mystery-solving was your thing!" Ahsoka's eyes are wide. "I take back being annoyed with you. You were right."</p><p>"Why does no one think I can do anything smart around here?" Anakin grouses, leaning back carefully on Ahsoka's desk. Neither of them spend much time on Coruscant, but he doesn't spend much time in here even when they do. It's much cleaner than his room, with a few trinkets from her homeworld stowed in the alcoves and her clothes hung nicely in the wardrobe instead of tossed loose on the floor. The only mess is her army kit, piled haphazardly on the table and threatening to avalanche before it can be sorted through. He stands back up quickly as a tremor dislodges a few ration bars. "But look, Snips, this guy is dangerous. He's a Sith, and he used to be a Jedi, so he <i>knows</i> us. And he also knows the two of us, specifically—Qui-Gon's lineage." Technically Dooku's lineage, the oldest surviving master of the line, but Anakin ignores that fact with an itch in his arm. "Before Kenobi disappeared, he was almost ready to become a knight, so he knows everything Qui-Gon taught me. He might try to use that against us—hell, he already has." Ahsoka frowns. "So… in order to keep you safe I think that… maybe you should hang back here for a little bit. Let me deal with Kenobi."</p><p>"Wait, wait, wait. You're taking me off the mission?!"</p><p>"No!" Anakin says quickly. "Just, like—the Council is right, the Sith want to destroy us, and they'll stop at nothing to do it. The Dark Side is powerful, Ahsoka, and you've never had to fight it up close and personal like this!"</p><p>"Neither have you," she shoots back. “Come on, Master—I can do this, I swear I can! And you can’t go in without backup!”</p><p>She looks up at him, hurt and betrayal clear on her face, and for a moment, Anakin nearly wavers. He never liked being left out when he was a padawan, and he knows that if he were on the other side of the discussion that he’d probably be even angrier. But… he has to be the responsible one! He has to be the adult, to take care of his student, and to know when something is too dangerous for her. <i>Did your padawan help you? She seems an extremely bright young woman.</i> She is, but damn it, that’s exactly why he can’t let her come—Kenobi’s already too interested in her. He takes a deep breath and steels himself. “Look, Ahsoka, why don’t you just—” Oh, no, is she tearing up? Oh, come on—his resolve fails him, and a different end to the sentence comes out. “Stick around here and… do research? I’m not taking you off the mission, see—I just think that we have better odds of getting him to lower his guard if there’s only one of us. Meanwhile you stay back here at the temple, or hey—maybe even…” He’s digging himself a trench, but his mouth won’t stop. “Maybe, <i>maybe</i>, you can do some reconnaissance. Back me up from a distance or something. We’ll work it out, okay?”</p><p>Ahsoka rolls her eyes; he gets the bad feeling that maybe she was making herself cry to trick him, but what’s said is said. She sits back on her bed and twirls her lightsabers with determination on her face. “But the second it gets interesting, you have to tell me, okay? The second you need help—”</p><p>“It’ll be just like fighting Ventress,” he promises. “Cross my heart.”</p><p>“Mmhmm.” She gazes after him sternly as he attempts to retreat. “Don’t die.”</p><p>“I won’t!” He shuts the door, and leans on the wall outside with a huff. Well. After this morning, chatting up the Sith Lord will be positively breezy.</p><p>***</p><p>“Took you a while.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, since you’re not actually here in good faith, I don’t have to try and be nice to you, do I?”</p><p>Kenobi looks hurt as he climbs into the speeder. “I <i>am</i> a diplomat. I’ll try not to let your lack of hospitality influence my decision-making.”</p><p>“I wish you would,” Anakin mutters under his breath, accelerating a little too quick and heading irritatedly toward the address Kenobi sent him earlier. Oh, he wishes Kenobi would screw up the negotiations, force the war on—give Anakin a chance to let him know how he really feels about  playing cabby to a Sith Lord. He could take Kenobi down in a fair fight in three moves, tops. Less if he insisted on wearing one of those stupid tight suits of his.</p><p>The neon lights and holoprojections of Coruscant whizz by, and Anakin recognizes the neighborhood as one of the more upscale ones—apparently Kenobi’s lost his taste for the underworld, then. He shifts lanes, is forced to look across him to check his mirror, and gets irritated all over again at the smug little smile on the man’s face. “I haven’t gotten to ride places in an open-air speeder in a while,” he says lightly, as if he’s picked up on what Anakin was thinking. Anakin turns his irritation on himself and clamps down on his thoughts, shielding them from whatever prying Kenobi’s trying to do. “I’m not much of a fan of space travel, honestly.”</p><p>Anakin doesn’t do him the courtesy of replying, just finds a spot to park the speeder and drops down onto the platform. “What is this, anyway?” he asks irritatedly. “If there’s not food—”</p><p>Kenobi laughs as he too hops out, pulling out his datapad from a hidden pocket somewhere and waving Anakin on. “I’ll buy you something from concessions. Now, I don’t know how much padawan training has changed since I went through it, but tell me—do you know much about the arts?”</p><p>Anakin stops dead in his tracks, and groans. “Please just kill me now, okay? You don’t have to go through with whatever complicated plan you have, just kill me—”</p><p>“And where’s the fun in that?” Kenobi waves his hand a little, and to Anakin’s utter scandalization he feels himself shoved along by the Force. He stumbles a little, and tries to glare a hole in Kenobi’s back. Not that… well, Anakin’s not unfamiliar with using the Force for… frivolous purposes, but it’s another thing to have it done to oneself. “My only plan is to get you to come see this ballet with me. It’s been years since I was on a planet with any sort of decent theater…” </p><p>It’s dark within the building, the lights tinted blue and watery, and Anakin reluctantly follows Kenobi past some fancy velvet curtains and into what appears to be a private box. Ugh—he’s really going to have to sit here and watch this, isn’t he? He drops into his seat and pulls the hood of his cloak up as Kenobi sits next to him. Well, at least it’ll be a distraction from whatever stupid things Kenobi’s trying to say to him. Even if the arts are… not Anakin’s thing. Not by a mile.</p><p>Except, no. With annoyance Anakin remembers his mission from the Council, and realizes that he has to try and wring information out of the Sith Lord. He crosses his ankle over his knee, stares out at the stage, where some sort of gravity-bubble of water has been formed, and sighs. Fine. Next time Kenobi talks, he'll let him.</p><p>"Your padawan busy this evening, then?"</p><p>"Mmhmm." Okay, good, civil, well done.</p><p>"Again?"</p><p>Anakin makes a noncommittal shrug. "She's got friends to see and things to do. I don't want to make her miss out on that sort of thing because of missions."</p><p>Kenobi chuckles. "Very well." Three Mon Calamari dancers swim into the bubble, and begin to spin. Anakin claps half-heartedly. "I suppose we all should try to take an evening to ourselves in these busy times."</p><p>And for quite a length of time, it seems as though Kenobi intends to do so. Anakin chances a glance his way a few minutes after the lights go down; he’s got his fingers laced behind his head, leaning back, and looks for all the world intent on the show. What if this isn’t even some sort of plot? Not that Anakin believes the man’s overall intentions are good—he’s a Sith, so obviously not—but maybe he meant it. Maybe he did just want to go out and take an evening to himself. Anakin settles back in his seat, still wary, and watches the dancers for a few moments too. It’s rather pretty, he supposes, though he certainly doesn’t know anything about what he’s watching. Padme would know; Naboo’s known for its art. Tatooine’s known for… survival.</p><p>He comes dangerously close to dozing off in his seat—they’re extremely comfortable, plush and velvet—until the stirring of the crowds at intermission pulls him back with a jump. For a second his stomach jolts, worried that Kenobi’s slipped away from him, but a hurried check reveals that the man is still there, albeit with a bottle of wine he didn’t have before. “Forty credits,” he says, displeasure clear in his face. “I forgot about the price gouging on this planet.”</p><p>Anakin snorts. “Did a lot of shopping as a Jedi? Also—you leave my sight again, I’ll gut you on the spot.”</p><p>“Not all of us were padawans in wartime.” Kenobi ignores his threat, and pours himself a glass. “Want some?”</p><p>“No,” Anakin says primly. He’s not dulling his reflexes at all, not with a Sith Lord around. Especially not given last night’s demonstration of his tolerances.</p><p>“Hmm.” Kenobi takes a sip with a shrug, and smiles. “Maybe afterwards, then—so you don’t have to fly. They supplied my quarters with the loveliest brandy—”</p><p>“That’s the Senate’s jurisdiction,” Anakin says dryly. “Not my problem. I’ll be headed back to the Temple, thank you very much.” </p><p>“Suit yourself.” Kenobi takes another sip. “How are things there? Quieter than usual, I’d imagine.”</p><p>“Nice try.” Trying to figure out if they’re unguarded, if their defenses are slipping—Anakin can see it from a klick off.</p><p>Kenobi rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to make conversation, not lay siege to the Temple.” He gazes at the ceiling for a moment, biting his lip in an annoyed sort of way. “Er—Senator Amidala. She mentioned that you two were friends. Is that recent, or did you stay close after… Naboo?”</p><p>Anakin narrows his eyes, but he can’t make out anything dangerous about answering that question. “We’ve been… close for a long time. While I was growing up here.”</p><p>“How sweet.” He smiles, then tilts his chin in a patronizing way. “And a very good start on civil discourse. Now you ask me a question, and so on...”</p><p>“Alright. Who’s your master?”</p><p>“Ugh. Shop talk? Must we?”</p><p>“It’s related,” Anakin points out acidly. “Naboo, you disappeared. What were you up to these last ten years?”</p><p>Kenobi sighs, but he doesn’t look particularly upset. “A great deal—much more than I can describe in this intermission. If you insist, I don’t like to think of myself as having a master. I’ve learned from Dooku; I’ve learned from a great number of other sources, too, and I don’t submit myself to them. It’s a structure meant to retain control of the people at the bottom, in my opinion.” He allows a pause. “My turn. Be honest—are you enjoying this show?”</p><p>Anakin wrinkles his nose. “Er—it’s… interesting.”</p><p>He laughs again. “I shall take that as a no. Your turn.”</p><p>Anakin doesn’t get the point of this, doesn’t like it one bit, but he supposes he’ll play along. “Is Ventress here with you? How do you two fit into Dooku’s command structure?”</p><p>“She is, if I recall correctly, taking a short vacation on Dathomir,” Kenobi tells him, and nothing in the miniscule portion of his Force signature that Anakin can see contradicts that. “And she and I work together. I try to negotiate, and if all else fails…” He shrugs.</p><p>“So you don’t fight?”</p><p>“It’s my turn.” Kenobi considers for a moment. “Let me think… how <i>was</i> growing up here on Coruscant? I did it myself, but my homeworld is in the core as well, and I hardly remember it. You’ve changed dramatically—I remember when you were, oh…” He holds out a hand around waist height. The friendliness of the gesture, the familiarity, makes Anakin curl his lip.</p><p>“It’s cold here,” he says at last. “No sand. Better than there.” There’s a lot more he could say, a lot more he thinks about Tatooine and Coruscant and the gulf between the two, but he doesn’t feel like it. His past isn’t dangerous to talk about, but it certainly is unpleasant. He cuts back to strategy. "So if this goes wrong, should I be expecting a visit from Ventress?"</p><p>"Touching that you're concerned." Kenobi shakes his head. "No, I think this will go well. After all, we're all so tired of the war, and I already think I've made inroads…"</p><p>"With who?"</p><p>"Confidential." He tuts. "I'd love to tell you, Anakin, but your senators are a secretive bunch.”</p><p>Senators—senators like Padme. Padme, who met Anakin on Tatooine all those years ago, but met Kenobi too. Who would listen to Anakin if he told her the man was not to be trusted. Who’s right in the center of all these negotiations. He feels his pulse quicken, but fights to suppress his reaction. The Council can’t act on his information, but Padme—</p><p>Kenobi narrows his eyes, smirks. “Oh, that occurred to you, did it? I thought it might.”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“Come, now, Anakin—I said shielding your thoughts would be a good habit to get into, but I didn’t say it would prevent me from seeing what’s written all over your face. You think if you tell the Senate all my deep dark secrets—” he looks amused— “that you’ll get them to throw me off Coruscant.” He raises his wine glass. “I’ll remind you, the average senator knows as much about silly ancient religions of the Force as your clones know about bureaucratic proceedings.”</p><p>“Not Senator Amidala.” Anakin times his response to the moment Kenobi takes a sip, and is rewarded by a bit of a sputter. “She knows a great deal about silly ancient religions of the Force. In fact, I’d be willing to bet she has about the same gut reaction I have to hearing about your… deep dark secrets.”</p><p>It may have been smarter to avoid revealing his breakthrough, but Anakin thinks it’s worth it, if only for the look on Kenobi’s face. The smirk is gone, replaced by something thin-lipped and calculating. Not so clever now, huh? That’s what you get when you underestimate Anakin Skywalker. He leans back in his chair, and gives the ballet his full attention.</p><p>“I’m impressed,” he hears after a moment or two. “But unfortunately, I’m going to have to request you leave Senator Amidala in the dark for now. You’re right—it might throw a wrench into the proceedings.”</p><p>“And give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell Padme you’re a Sith Lord?” The lights are back down, but a glance at Kenobi reveals a glint in his eye, cold even through the glow from the stage. Anakin holds it—he won’t be intimidated. </p><p>Kenobi sighs. “Because,” he says, looking displeased— “you’d have to explain how you got caught in a compromising position <i>with</i> said Sith Lord.” He holds out his datapad.</p><p>Anakin snatches it, uncomprehending, and glances over the picture on it. It’s in that bar, from last night—two men looking quite drunk and quite close together, and… he exhales sharply, his stomach rolling over, and glares at Kenobi, who looks back quite frankly. “What is this? What the hell are you planning?”</p><p>“Call it insurance. I hadn’t hoped to have to use it this soon—so you’ve beaten me on that, at least. Count yourself lucky.”</p><p>Anakin’s feeling anything but lucky; the tips of his ears are hot and he doesn’t think the shadowy lighting is quite hiding his blush. Damn it, he should have known that Kenobi was already playing the game before he even entered. And damn him, for even getting drunk at all in the first place! His heart is beating hard and angry, but he can’t think of a way to wriggle out of this. The photo is damning in about six different ways, and if it gets out—the thought of going in front of the Council and trying to <i>explain</i> that picture, and just what was going through his head… “Fine,” he spits. “Any other… requests?”</p><p>“None for now—I wouldn’t want you to get… discouraged.” Kenobi’s good humor seems to be returning slightly, but that undercurrent of coldness that Anakin sensed before, that anger at being bested—it’s clearly still there, now that Anakin has seen it spike. Which is why, when Kenobi opens his mouth again, he finds himself biting the inside of his cheek. He’s not nervous—he just… may have underestimated Obi-Wan Kenobi, too. “Actually—yes.” Kenobi picks up the bottle of wine, and holds it out, producing a second glass. “Help me finish this.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Black and White</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anakin wakes with a hangover the next day, and his week doesn’t get much clearer than that. It turns into a horrible sort of repetition, in fact—reporting to the Council, training with Ahsoka, making up errands for Ahsoka to keep her from looking for trouble, and then going to find trouble himself whenever Kenobi comes calling. It’s exhausting, and he doesn’t even think it’s getting him anywhere. His goal is to figure out what Kenobi’s up to; he’s not even sure he can pin down what Kenobi isn’t involved with. He’s perfectly polite, not too talkative or overbearing, but he has something to say about <i>everything</i>—updates on negotiations with the Senate, anecdotes about run-ins with the Coruscanti underworld, opinions on art and podracing and the state of the galaxy. Anakin could almost be interested if he wasn’t so busy trying to sift through the man’s words for ill intent. As it stands, Kenobi might be on Coruscant for nearly any reason at all.</p><p>He’s granted a rare moment of reprieve from the cycle over lunch with Padme—a rushed, cafe-based affair pleasantly unlike the sit-down meals he’s been dragged to with Kenobi. Anakin learned long ago—mostly in combat—that most of Padme’s senatorial outfits can be shucked off quite readily, leaving her with a much more utilitarian costume underneath, and so he knows not to look for ornate headdresses as he seeks out a seat at the counter. A call of “Ani!” catches his attention, and he follows it to find her, two bowls of steaming noodles already before them. “You look like hell,” she remarks over the low rumble of conversation in the shop, and gives him an innocent smile as he glares at her. “Council running you ragged?”</p><p>“More like trying to look after your ambassador for th—,” he grumbles, then bites his tongue before he implies the Council’s interested in Kenobi. He has no idea how it would get back to the man, but he’s not risking that picture getting out. “He’s extremely… energetic.”</p><p>Padme rolls her eyes. “I’m aware.” She twists up her noodles on chopsticks with practiced ease, eats them without slurping in a way that Anakin has never managed. “He’s running circles around our team. Knows what they’re going to argue before they do.”</p><p>He probably does, but Anakin can’t say that. “Let’s talk something else,” he suggests, folding his shoulders in a bit to move away from the patrons squeezed in around him. “I’m sick of him.”</p><p>Padme takes a sip from what he recognizes as a deceptively fancy bottle containing an energy drink with enough caffeine to stun a Hutt. “Fair enough. How’s being back on Coruscant—in the downtime you do have?”</p><p>Anakin narrows his eyes. “Is there an implication in that?”</p><p>She laughs, and elbows him lightly. “Get your mind out of the gutter! Why—<i>should</i> I be implying something?” Both Padme and Anakin are far too busy for any sort of… entanglements—not to mention Anakin’s supposed commitment to chastity and detachment—but it’s hard to grow up knowing someone and not talk about that sort of thing; crushes, hookups, mistakes made at Life Day festivals in club freshers. He even had a crush on Padme himself a long time ago, though it disappeared entirely once she started testing out her debate skills on him. Politicians—definitely not his speed.</p><p>“No,” he says primly, and fails to eat his noodles in a dignified manner. His prosthetic has never been able to manage chopsticks, if his original hand ever could. “I’m busy being responsible.”</p><p>“A sentence I’ve never heard from you,” she notes, smiling.</p><p>“A sentence I never want to say again.” He sighs, and drags his hands down his face. “I need a break—I <i>need</i> something for you to make implications about. At least that wouldn’t have me on eggshells constantly.”</p><p>“A little something to relieve the… tension,” Padme says with a smirk, then smiles at him more genuinely. “You’re doing a good job, though, Ani. With Darjeti, and Ahsoka, and the Council.”</p><p>The tips of his ears feel a bit hot, and he turns to his food, embarrassed. “You wouldn’t know it.” He slurps up some noodles. “The way the Council… ugh.” He pauses for a moment, then turns back. “Er—thank you, though, Padme. It… means a lot to hear that.”</p><p>She nods, concern and kindness written on her face, and though Anakin questions it sometimes when she’s at her most senatorial, he knows this is exactly why they’ve been friends this long. Padme has his back in a way not a lot of other people do. She cares about him, and he trusts the hell out of her. </p><p>Which is why Kenobi’s gag order is just another thing on the long list of things driving him insane.</p><p>***</p><p>ben_darjeti: I’m tired of going out. Want to get some takeout?<br/>anakin_skywalker: can’t u do that on your own<br/>ben_darjeti: Ugh, but I’ll be so lonelyyyyy :-( My droids are horrible conversationalists.<br/>anakin_skywalker: i don’t know how you got it in ur head that i’m a good conversationalist. just get takeout and charge it to the republic’s credit card and call that ur evil deed for the day<br/>ben_darjeti: Haha. In all seriousness, though, would you bring something over? You can pick.<br/>anakin_skywalker: no<br/>ben_darjeti: Need I remind you I’m a difficult-to-please Separatist diplomat with the power to keep this war going indefinitely?<br/>anakin_skywalker: hey ur fuckin odious u know that? <br/>anakin_skywalker: and you text like an 80yo. don’t send me smiley faces with noses. my eyes r bleeding<br/>ben_darjeti: ;-)<br/>anakin_skywalker: i’m showing these texts to ahsoka and letting her kill u herself<br/>anakin_skywalker: be over in half an hour u absolute bastard</p><p>***</p><p>“You’re… sure,” the Rodian behind the counter says in accented Basic. “You’re sure you want… authentic Tatooine flavor?” She turns to the Jawa beside her, and mutters something in Huttese. “What do you think? Just a little extra spice on the standard?”</p><p>“Look,” Anakin cuts in. He hates the feel of Huttese in his mouth, but he’s trying to prove a point. “I know what I’m in for, okay? Load it up. Please.”</p><p>The two of them look at him with, he hopes, slightly more respect, and the Rodian nods and takes his credits. “Two servings of terrine… authentic,” she calls back to the kitchen, and Anakin allows himself a grimace of a smile. If there’s one thing he remembers from the first time he met Obi-Wan Kenobi, it was the amount of time he spent complaining about Tatooine.</p><p>He’s lucky that his speeder is open-topped; otherwise he thinks he might choke on the spice coming off the two takeout boxes in the passenger seat next to him. He parks on one of the Senate building’s launchpads, and makes his way up to the visiting diplomats’ level. He’s been here before, during field trips with Qui-Gon, but now most of the lights are off, the rooms unoccupied. It seems most offworlders are either hunkered down in more permanent quarters, or staying home. He passes a few people as he goes—Senate guards, aides still hustling despite the lateness of the hour. The last of the sun has disappeared behind the buildings outside, and now it is the glitzy neon of the financial district that throws light in through the windows. It’s a different view than the one from the Temple, but Anakin can’t even find it in himself to stop and look at it. He’s wound as tightly as a spring, and one wrong move from Kenobi is liable to set him off.</p><p>His hands are full, so he kicks the door a few times with his boot, and waits impatiently until it’s opened. Kenobi, it seems, doesn’t bother with his droids—he opens the door himself, and cocks his head curiously at the containers in Anakin’s hands. “I’m intrigued,” he says, and pulls back to allow him in. Anakin says nothing, just glares at him as he steps into what seems to be an office. Kenobi’s dressed more casually than usual—shirtsleeves instead of the overtunic, still tailored and pressed and expensive-looking. Obnoxious, how he never seems to get ruffled or have a hair out of place.</p><p>“You said I could pick,” he says shortly, and deposits one of the takeout boxes on the coffee table. “Tatooine terrine. Authentic.”</p><p>“It certainly smells that way,” Kenobi replies, sitting on the couch and unpinching the metal bottom from the lid with deft movements. He glances up at Anakin, still standing. “Are you going to sit?”</p><p>“Not unless you’re threatening me.” He crosses his arms. “I was hoping to leave, actually. I have things to do.”</p><p>Kenobi looks disappointed. “Come, now. Half an hour. I’ll give you all of tomorrow off.”</p><p>Anakin curls his lip; he’s not <i>bartering</i> with the man. “I could leave now.”</p><p>“And I could leak my insurance to the holoweb. But there are more pleasant ways to spend an evening, aren’t there?”</p><p>There are—but stuck eating takeout with a Sith Lord isn’t one of them. Anakin sits on the opposite couch grumpily, and opens his food, spearing mushrooms with rather more vehemence is necessary. Stupid idiotic picture—if it was anyone else, Anakin wouldn’t care. Hell, he’d hardly care getting caught in bed with some sort of actual Separatist diplomat at this point. If Kenobi was nothing more than that, it might even be more damaging for him. But a Sith Lord… no, Anakin’s reputation really cannot take that. Even if it was literally nothing—a bad angle, a drunken lean…</p><p>Kenobi gets up abruptly, and returns with a glass of water. Anakin hides a smirk, his own tastebuds only slightly out of practice with Tatooine seasoning, and takes another bite. “You know, for a planet so hot you’d think people would avoid cooking like this, but it’s really the only thing from home that I ever liked.”</p><p>“Tatooine—a bit of an… acquired taste, in my opinion.” Kenobi tries and fails to mask a grimace, but continues eating. “Very… messy. Chaotic.”</p><p>“I thought Sith Lords were supposed to like chaos,” Anakin says dryly. It’s more of a jab, less of an actual question—if he can tell one thing about Kenobi, it’s that he’s order incarnate. Old Jedi habits die hard, it seems.</p><p>Sure enough, Kenobi looks irritated. “You have a very black-and-white view of things.” He undoes the top button of his shirt, and runs his finger around the inside of the collar. “I suppose that’s to be expected, though. You’re still very young.”</p><p>Oh, that’s irritating. Anakin shovels another mouthful of food into his mouth to keep from spitting some ill-thought-out retort. That’s some Council-level bullshit—too young, too rash, too inexperienced. As if Kenobi didn’t fall to the fucking dark side. “It’s not like they go around teaching us this stuff, Kenobi. I’d say I have more experience with the Sith than most.”</p><p>Kenobi waves a hand, leans back on his couch. There’s silence for a long while, Kenobi seeming to have given up on the food. Score one, Anakin. He responds after an interval, sounding thoughtful. “It’s not about what you know—it’s about how you approach the world, Anakin. Good versus evil. Light versus dark. Thinking those are the same thing.” He looks over toward the window. “It’s all much more… twilight, than that.”</p><p>Anakin finishes his meal, which is unfortunate, because it means his mouth is free to retort. “I know,” he snaps. “I’m not a child.” One wrong move from Kenobi—looks like this is it. Assuming that because Anakin’s still a Jedi, he must not understand the reality of the world.</p><p>“I never said you were,” Kenobi replies, still looking out the window. The posture has dragged his collar open, the slightest touch of dishevelment, and Anakin fights the urge to take it further, throw his plate in his face and show the man just how well he understands the concept of grey. Kenobi’s a Sith who loves order—well, Anakin’s a Jedi who thrives in chaos. He flexes his hand restlessly. “This war—it forces us to choose binary sides. And I think that’s dangerous. I’m telling the truth when I say I want peace, Anakin. Peace gives us the opportunity to question our assumptions, to move forward.”</p><p>“I question plenty,” Anakin shoots back. His whole body feels restless now—he gets up to pace. “I’m not just following blindly, you know.”</p><p>“I never said you were.” </p><p>Kenobi still isn’t looking at him, even as he too gets up and goes over to the window. “Isn’t it a bit hypocritical to denounce taking sides, and then become a Sith?” Anakin’s going on the offensive if Kenobi’s going to be so irritatingly slippery. “Isn’t <i>that</i> a little black and white?”</p><p>“Sith is a label of convenience,” Kenobi says. “Like I said—I had to choose a side to have any say in this war. I take less exception to the Sith code, but I don’t agree with it entirely.”</p><p>“Do tell,” Anakin says sarcastically. Kenobi invited him over here—he won’t be ignored. He goes over to the window and leans against it, glaring sideways at the man.</p><p>“I’m of the opinion that the Jedi code encourages… passivity.” Kenobi runs his thumb along his jaw, smoothing his already-impeccable beard. “We shouldn’t help if we can’t help everyone, we should eschew attachment, we should seek harmony over revolution. We should train students, but we shouldn’t get too close to them. We should submit to the will of the Force.” He turns back towards Anakin, his gaze a little too far away to connect with Anakin’s. “Isn’t it exhausting, pretending to be perfect? Because that’s what it takes. The Jedi Code is practically a prison—take one step outside, and they’ll say you’ve fallen. Make one wrong move, feel an ounce of righteous anger—”</p><p>“It’s a bit more than that—”</p><p>“Is it?”</p><p>“Yeah!” This is getting preachy, and Anakin’s not one to listen to sermons from anyone, Council or Sith. “Maybe that’s how you felt, but I’m sure as hell not perfect, and I’m not evil—”</p><p>Kenobi’s eyes finally lock with his. “No. But do they trust you?”</p><p>Anakin’s stomach turns for reasons he’s pretty sure have nothing to do with the food, or with the intensity of Kenobi’s gaze. He breaks eye contact with a scoff of displeasure. “Doesn’t matter. I decide where I belong. And that’s with the Jedi, thank you very much, and I’ll do as I please.”</p><p>“Really.” He can still feel Kenobi staring at him. Still even, still a blank in the Force, still orderly and neat and probably better at the whole Jedi thing than Anakin. Still so haughty and still so <i>fucking</i> wrong. “You’ll break the code, and go home to the Temple? You’ll teach your padawan serenity, and then get angry with me? Or you’ll follow the code, pretend you don’t have emotions or attachments, and go calmly and dispassionately to exile when you don’t measure up?”</p><p>“I said,” Anakin growls, and he doesn’t even have a good argument. Action over all this stupid negotiation. He takes a step forward, forcing Kenobi up against the window by sheer force of anger. “I <i>said</i>, I’ll do as I please.”</p><p>Kenobi tilts his chin, something like… disappointment written on his face. “I don’t think you will.” His throat is open, invitation for a lightsaber or a hand to end all this. Anakin’s used to violence. And he so wants to show Kenobi he means business, to prove him wrong. No one tells Anakin what to do—not the Council, not the code, and certainly not this Sith Lord, all slick and charisma and open collars and negotiation. The code won’t stop Anakin from frustration and anger, and Kenobi’s going to <i>see</i> that his little insurance won’t stop Anakin from doing <i>as he fucking wants</i>.</p><p>So it’s not violence that meets Kenobi’s throat, but Anakin’s mouth, though the effect may as well be the same. He goes tense, and Anakin has to swerve out of the way of a panicked knee headed for his stomach, but the two of them remain in tight quarters. There’s a low chuckle, but it doesn’t cover Kenobi’s signature in the Force—surprised out of hiding, surprised period, disbelieving that Anakin would act and rapidly trying to account for this revelation in future plans. Anakin sucks in a breath and rolls his eyes, barring his forearm against Kenobi’s throat. “Don’t play like you masterminded this, Kenobi. You’re not perfect either.”</p><p>A twinge of anger in his presence in the Force, and then it clamps back down. Kenobi narrows his eyes, his demeanor shifting cold in an instant. “Chaos has never been my strong suit,” he says, his voice strained by the pressure Anakin’s putting on his windpipe and that long-eyelashed gaze clearly focused more on his mouth than anywhere else. “You win—just move away from the window, if you please. I’d prefer to be releasing my scandalous behavior on my own terms.”</p><p>Anakin’s body is coursing with triumph and vindication and a bit of adrenaline, but he’s won his bluff and Kenobi’s right—if this whole… situation doesn’t need to get out to the press, then it probably shouldn’t. He drags Kenobi by the shirtfront to the couch instead, switching the shades down with a wave of the Force and enjoying the creases he’s already put in Kenobi’s polished appearance. “I’d prefer it if you undress me with your hands,” Kenobi says dryly, undoubtedly catching his thoughts, “rather than your eyes—if, of course, you have any idea what you’re doing.”</p><p>It’s bait, but Anakin takes it anyway—he wants an excuse to be rough. He takes it out on those prim little buttons, probably wrecking the shirt in his haste and not much caring. Kenobi gives as good as he gets—he mutters some curses in frustration as he tries to sort through Anakin’s layers, but manages them fairly quickly while Anakin gets to know Kenobi’s collarbones a little better. Ugh—the recycled air is cold in here, and Anakin tries not to do anything that could be construed as cozying up to Kenobi for warmth. This is—well, perhaps not the textbook example, but a pretty good one—of a relationship with<i>out</i> attachment. He yanks Kenobi’s shirt the rest of the way off his shoulders, and cuts off any prospective teasing by dragging Kenobi into an open-mouthed kiss.</p><p>It gets a bit warmer from there.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i wanted to write more smut but it's two hours past my bedtime so i will save it for the next chapter. coming soon, pwp if i can stop that pesky plot from interceding :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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